


Closure

by Emiline



Category: Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
Genre: Alternative Point of View, F/M, Yuletide, Yuletide 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiline/pseuds/Emiline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I can hardly describe the surprise, indeed the shock I felt upon receiving Mr. Stevens’ letter a few days ago declaring his intention to visit the West Country. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo_5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_5/gifts).



> Disclaimer: _The Remains of the Day_ belongs to the very talented Kazuo Ishiguro. The film adaptation is the property of Merchant-Ivory.

I can hardly describe the surprise, indeed the shock I felt upon receiving Mr. Stevens’ letter a few days ago declaring his intention to visit the West Country. I am not sure which shocked me more, that he was taking time off, or that he was hoping to see _me_ during this time. In all the years we worked together at Darlington Hall I never knew Mr. Stevens to travel anywhere unless it was on some errand of Lord Darlington’s or with Lord Darlington himself.

Although it would appear that in this instance it was not an idea conceived of by Mr. Stevens alone. Indeed, Mr. Stevens made a great point to emphasize in his letter that it was not his idea at all to take a “motoring tour to the West Country”. I shall quote from the letter he sent me.

 _[…]  
I would explain to you, Mrs. Benn, that I should never have considered this kind of dereliction of my duties, had not Mr. Farraday himself suggested it to me in the first place. Indeed, I will confess that I did not believe him to be serious at first. I do not mean to impugn his character, he is a steady employer and I have no cause for complaint. He is of course, however, an American and unfamiliar with our ways. There are on occasion, Americanisms of his that I find puzzling. But the times have changed, Mrs. Benn, since you worked at Darlington Hall and we must change with them, mustn’t we. As you know, I always strove to give my best to Lord Darlington and will strive to maintain the same level of professionalism as Lord Darlington demanded with my new employer. _

_But as I read over the preceding paragraph, I see that you might I am implying that Mr. Farraday is in the habit of lying. I should not wish to leave you with that impression. The truth of the matter is Mr. Farraday seems to enjoy bantering and has one more than one occasion done so in my presence, and quite naturally I think, I assumed that this was one of those occasions. I was mistaken however. Mr. Farraday seemed to be genuinely concerned about, indeed, he expressed the opinion that it was “wrong that a man can’t get out to see his own country”._

 _I gave the matter considered thought and finally decided to take Mr. Farraday up on his most generous offer. You perhaps remember His Lordship’s collection of volumes of Mrs. Jane Symon’s The Wonder of England. I have consulted these once more in preparation […]_

I have read the letter through some three or four times, but it has shed no light on the motivations behind Mr. Stevens’ decision to come see me. Indeed, I can scarcely believe that it is true. I have not seen Mr. Stevens since I left Darlington Hall some twenty years ago now, to marry Mr. Benn. I had long since abandon any expectation of ever seeing him again.

This letter is all the more surprising given how Mr. Stevens and I have largely fallen out of touch in the past six or seven years. I have continued to send him a Christmas card every year, to which he without fail replies to punctually but perfunctorily. It has been years since we exchanged letters with any real substance.

Perhaps this is why my stomach is fluttering with nervous anticipation.

He will arrive in Little Compton tomorrow. I have only just realized that in my state of shock, I never sent him a reply confirming that I should be glad to meet with him. It seems rather pointless at this juncture to reply, as no doubt he has assumed agreement from my silence.

 **xxxx**

It has now been four days since I saw Mr. Stevens.

It was a comfort to see him looking nearly exactly the same as I had remembered him. The most obvious difference in his appearance was his hair, which was almost completely grey, and his face, which was more lined. There was also something in his posture that was altered although I cannot say exactly what it was. He held himself no less properly, no less professionally. But when our eyes met, his face lit up in a way that I had only seen once or twice before.

Our conversation was naturally, a bit stilted at first. After twenty years it would have been foolish to expect that we could immediately converse as we had all those years ago. But after perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes we had regained our equilibrium and were slipping back into the easy teasing exchanges that I remember with such fondness. And oh, but how it hurt terribly, as happy as I was, because here we were again, impossibly, and I wished I could pretend that the past two decades had not happened. Unfortunately one cannot ignore the march of time, however one might desire to.

“I was troubled to read in your letter Miss Kenton—I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Benn, that you had left your husband once more.”

“You may put your mind at ease, Mr. Stevens. It is true, when I wrote to you that Mr. Benn I were having difficulties but we have since talked things through and I have returned to him, to my rightful place. I am afraid,” I laughed, “I let my temper get the best of me for a while but fortunately my husband has a great deal of patience and was able to convince me to return. It’s just as well one of us is sensible about these things,” I added.

A shadow flickered across Mr. Stevens’ face, and my heart leapt.

“Indeed, Mrs. Benn. I recall your temper quite well. Well, it is fortunate that you and your husband have smoothed things out.”

 _Is it?_ I wondered.

“I quite agree, Mr. Stevens. My husband, I am afraid, has not been in the best of health lately and is going to retire by the end of the year.”

I paused, and sipped my tea.

“Am I correct in assuming that your husband would not be retiring so soon were it not for this illness?” Mr. Stevens inquired carefully.

“You are. It is, of course, a pity but it will give both of us more time to be around Catherine. She’s going to have a baby soon, you know. I’m going to be a grandmother.”

“Please allow me to offer you and your daughter my warmest congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, seized by inspiration I reached into my pocketbook and withdrew my notepad and pencil. I wrote Catherine’s address neatly on the piece of paper, tore it out and handed it to him.

“If you have time, do call on Catherine. She’d be delighted to meet you.”

“Oh, Mrs. Benn, I wouldn’t presume to—“

“Really, it’s quite all right Mr. Stevens, I shouldn’t have made the invitation if I were unsure.”

“I’d be an imposition, I’m sure she and her husband have much to do to prepare for the baby.”

“You wouldn’t be an imposition at all, I assure you. Please think about it at least.”

He gave me a small smile.

“You can be very stubborn sometimes Miss—Mrs. Benn. Very well, I shall consider it. I think that I am unlikely to have time to pass through that part of Dorset, unfortunately.”

“As long as you consider it. I do wish you would go, truly. Catherine has heard all about you Mr. Stevens, she’d be so thrilled to meet you.”

The waiter came by with our tea cakes. I selected a delicious looking petit-four.

“More tea, Mrs. Benn?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Supplied with cakes, our conversation turned to Darlington Hall. As Mr. Stevens spoke, memories came flooding back to me, accompanied by the strong sense of longing that plagued me for so many years. Perhaps they were for Mr. Stevens as well, for soon were laughing over old memories from when we both worked at the house.

“Do you recall when you decided that Sam was to be the new under-butler?”

“Mrs. Benn, how could I forget? The poor boy was terrified when I called him in. I can’t image what terrible punishment he thought he was in for.”

“You did have quite a reputation for terrorizing the under–servants Mr. Stevens,” I teased.

“My reputation, at least, was nothing compared to yours after you dressed down Marie.”

“Still, they were only afraid of getting on my bad side. They were always afraid of you, Mr. Stevens. They never could tell when you might spring a surprise inspection on them or their work.”

Eventually we got around to the subject of Lord Darlington and Mr. Stevens told me the sad tale of Lord Darlington’s decline. It was while hearing this story that I realized that Mr. Stevens' devotion to His Lordship had been even greater than I had ever realized, and that Mr. Stevens had lost some part of himself when Lord Darlington died.

I believe that the hours I spent with Mr. Stevens that afternoon were the happiest I have had in months, years even, aside from the time that I have spent with Catherine. It was this realization that made what happened after the tea shop all the more painful than it already was. Mr. Stevens and I have always been remarkably skilled at being cruel to one another, and it seemed that particular talent did not lessen with time for either of us. What transpired as we waited together in the rain for my bus is still too painful for me to recall in full detail.

Afterwards, I considered writing Mr. Stevens a note. Something, _anything_.

But if my declaration of love did not sway him, what could I possible hope to write that would change his mind? He might, I suppose, still be able to deny his own feelings but he could no longer claim innocence or ignorance when it came to mine. Nor could he brush them away as a fancy of youth or a mistaken interpretation of a working relationship or anything else he might choose to try to delude himself with.

I don’t know what I was expecting from Mr. Stevens’ visit. I did not expect him to come and express his undying love for me—as appealing as the idea might be. I certainly did not expect to confess my feelings to him. But it was he who opened the topic and then when he tried to back away from it as he always had before, I was seized by a sudden fury and I decided in that moment that we were going to have it all out, once and for all. It was not only probable, it was all but guaranteed that we would never see each other again and I was not going to let this final opportunity slip through my fingers, just to accommodate Mr. Stevens’ feelings. I will admit that the possibility that it would lead to irrevocable failure occurred to me but I was angry and hurt and thought that at worst I would make Mr. Stevens feel the pain I felt all those years ago when I left Darlington Hall and for years afterwards. Mr. Stevens hurt me badly then, and if I could not have closure, I wanted revenge. That was petty and wrong of me, and I am sorry for it. But I am not sorry for pushing the issue. It needed to be done, and if all that came from it was that I realized it was foolish for me to hope that Mr. Stevens had changed enough to be receptive to such a declaration, then so be it. It is closure of a sorts.

Even if my heart is breaking anew.


End file.
